The Sword Of Angels eog-3 Read online

  Mirage took the time to look around, trying to ignore her hunger. Her long blonde hair hung loose around her shoulders, and she noticed now that the soldiers in the street watched her. Mirage made sure not to look at them. The lust of men was unknown to her, mostly. No one had longed for her, not when she was burned.

  No, she corrected herself. That wasn’t exactly true. Thorin had loved her. He had loved and longed for her when no other man had, and that was why she had returned to Koth, to find him.

  But where?

  She glanced around. Vendors had abandoned most of the shops months ago, long before the Norvans had come. Before the arrival of Jazana Carr and her horde, it was civil war that had split the city, but Breck and the others had quelled the worst of it. Now Breck was gone, dead like most of Koth’s defenders. Dead like Vanlandinghale, the young lieutenant who’d been so kind, so thoughtful to Mirage that he had never asked her why she had come to the library or why she loved Lukien so much. Of the thousand men who had defended the city, barely three-hundred had survived, and all of them were scattered now. At first they had hidden at Breck’s farm up north, just as Mirage herself had done, but even remote Borath was too near to be safe, and the soldiers had gone, leaving their homeland for any safe haven.

  But not I, thought Mirage.

  She had not the sense to leave with Thorin’s son, Aric, or any of the others. Even Lukien had refused to return to Koth, going off on a mad quest instead. Of all of them, only Mirage had returned, and suddenly she was not proud of her decision. She was simply afraid. The soldiers in the avenue took more notice of her, passing comments and leering. Mirage turned her face away and trotted deeper into Koth. She realized how few women were in the city. Those that remained had obviously locked themselves in their homes, fearing the rapes that so often accompanied a sacking. Mirage considered her plan. She had come to Koth because there was nowhere else for her, and because Lukien had shunned her love. She could not return to Grimhold, for to do so would mean defeat, and she could not admit defeat to Minikin. Only Thorin had really shown her love. Though the Devil’s Armour had maddened him, Mirage was sure he would welcome her.

  If she could find him.

  He may not even be in the city, she realized. Looking up again at the battered library, she knew he would not be there. He’ll be at Lionkeep.

  Lionkeep had been ruined too, though not as badly as the library. And Mirage had heard rumours that Thorin had set up a command post there. Still, it was a longshot to find him, and she wondered what she would say to gain an audience with him. Already her presence was arousing suspicion. She didn’t want anyone’s attention, especially not one of the Jazana Carr’s greasy mercenaries.

  A strange sense gripped her then, forcing her to look over her shoulder. Except for the soldiers she saw no one, yet all day she had felt the cold appraisal of unwanted eyes. She calmed herself, told herself that no one was following her, then proceeded across the avenue. Lionkeep was on the other side of the city, and if she was to reach it before darkness fell completely she would have to make haste. But she had not eaten since morning and was wildly hungry now, and knew that she could not go on without a little food, at least. Ahead of her, she spotted a tavern. Amazingly, it looked open. A pair of soldiers sat by the doors, sharing a pipe and a bottle of liquor. Mirage reined in her mount, keeping to the shadows while she studied the place, reading the battered sign over the door.

  ‘The Red Stallion,’ she whispered.

  The name sounded familiar to her. They would have food, probably, and give her a chance to rest. Mirage wondered if she should stop or go on to Lionkeep. Stopping would make it that much later — and darker — when she finally asked for Thorin. But her bones ached and her stomach roared to be filled, and she knew she could not go on much longer. Screwing up her courage, she trotted back into the light and headed for the tavern. Outside, other horses had been bridled and a boy had been hired to look after them. Despite the obviously drunk Norvans at the threshold, the place seemed safe enough, at least enough to draw Mirage forward. The Norvans looked up from their drink when she approached, staring at her through the pipe smoke. In Liiria, a woman riding alone was a rare sight, but in Norvor it was unheard of, and the two soldiers blinked in disbelief. Mirage dismounted and tied her weary horse at the post. She had left Borath with precious little money, but her horse was important and she couldn’t afford anything happening to the beast.

  ‘Here,’ she told the boy, dipping into the pockets of her riding pants and fishing out a coin. ‘Look after him and don’t let anyone touch him. All right?’

  The boy nodded dumbly, as struck as the Norvans by her appearance, and quickly took the coin. Mirage felt the eyes of the men on her backside as she sidled toward the door. The Red Stallion was a large place, and as she entered she immediately noticed the crowd, laughing and drinking, playing cards by the fire, and teasing the prostitutes with promised coins. Mirage felt herself blush. The only women in the tavern were whores. Her eyes darted about, wondering if she should leave. A man hurried into the side of her vision.

  ‘You want a table?’

  Startled, Mirage stared at him a moment. He was a stocky man with a kind, round face. Obviously the proprietor, his skin gushed sweat from the rushing he’d been doing.

  ‘Uhm, yes. Do you have food?’

  ‘Food, yes, we have food.’ The man looked at her peculiarly. ‘Are you alone?’

  Mirage nodded. ‘That’s right.’

  The proprietor’s smile was awkward. ‘You’re not looking for work, are you? I mean, you’re not a. .’ His grin broke down. ‘You know.’

  ‘I certainly am not,’ said Mirage indignantly. Flustered by the question, she thought again of leaving, but the man hurried an apology.

  ‘No, of course you’re not,’ he said. ‘Forgive me, but a lovely lady like yourself. . well, you probably shouldn’t be on your own, especially at night.’

  ‘I have no choice,’ Mirage replied. ‘I’m in the city looking for someone.’

  Sympathy suffused the man’s chubby face. ‘Ah, the war. You’ve lost someone.’ He looked suitably sad. ‘Come, I’ll find you a table away from the noise.’

  When he turned, Mirage followed reluctantly. An empty table sat in the corner of the room, away from the worst of the men and commotion, beneath a quickly darkening window. The proprietor wiped the wooden chair with his towel and held it out for her. Mirage took her seat, glancing around. Not surprisingly, the men in the room noticed her. She averted her eyes.

  ‘You’ve been on the road all day, I can tell,’ said the barman. ‘We have good food for you.’

  ‘And beer,’ added Mirage. She reached into her trousers and pulled out two more coins, one slightly larger than the other. ‘Whatever this will buy.’

  ‘That won’t buy you much,’ said the man. ‘But you bring elegance to the Stallion, pretty thing like you. Don’t worry — I’ll take care of you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Mirage as the barman turned away. She sat back, trying to get comfortable while she waited for her meal, feeling remarkable suddenly. She was free. No longer tied to Lukien or the library, she could go anywhere she wanted, and not answer to anyone. During her long years in Grimhold, she had craved freedom, almost as much as she craved her old, unscarred face. Now she had both. She dared to look at the men in the room, noting with satisfaction the way they stared. They frightened her, yet it was so much better to see hunger in their eyes than revulsion.

  But they’re the enemy, she told herself. They conquered Liiria.

  The bar girl brought her a tankard of beer and laid it sloshing on the table. She was gone in an instant, Mirage barely noticed her. She lifted the beer and tasted it while she scanned the tavern’s patrons.

  I’ll have to live among them if Thorin will have me, she realized.

  While Mirage drank she noticed a man in the opposite corner, looking at her. He sat alone, nursing his own tankard and spinning a coin on the tabletop. The taut skin
around his face pulled back in a sharp smile when their eyes met. The man did not wear the uniform of a soldier but rather dressed himself in black, a long cape draped around his shoulders. He had a strangely familiar face. Mirage was sure she’d seen him before, probably at the library. Was he a Liirian, one of Breck’s men? She was nearly certain she had seen him at the farm, where the survivors of the siege had fled, but she did not know his name or even remember speaking to him. The stranger’s smile faded and he went back to spinning his coin.

  If he was at the farm, what was he doing here, Mirage wondered? As though deliberately ignoring her curiosity, the man stood, pushed back his chair, and walked out of the Red Stallion, leaving his coin spinning on the table. He hadn’t eaten — there were no dishes near his seat. Mirage wasn’t even sure he’d been there when she entered. But when the proprietor finally brought her plate of food, she forgot about the stranger entirely.

  ‘For you,’ the man said proudly, laying down a feast of meat and bread. ‘This should get your strength back and then some.’

  Mirage nearly melted when she smelled the food, the odour of which rose up from the plate like a steaming bath. ‘All this?’ she exclaimed.

  The man winked at her. ‘Enjoy it. Stay as long as you like.’

  Mirage picked up her fork and dug into the buttery beef. Already there were benefits to beauty, she realized, and she smiled secretly as she ate, her confidence soaring. Thorin would take her in, she was sure.

  Mirage stayed in the Red Stallion for more than an hour, far longer than she intended, taking her leisure while the innkeeper occasionally refilled her tankard, free of charge. He was plainly smitten with her and stopped by to chat from time to time, mostly, he claimed, to protect her from the other patrons. Once they had got used to her, the Norvans in the tavern stopped leering and offered to buy her drinks, all of which Mirage politely refused. She also got dirty looks from the Stallion’s prostitutes, but these she ignored as well, realizing none of them were a danger.

  By the time she left the tavern the night had gone completely dark. The boy she had left outside with her horse had slumped into something like sleep at the edge of the cobblestone street. Mirage untied her horse without disturbing him, guiding it quietly down the lane. Her belly full, she felt wonderfully contented as she walked, lost in the effect of all the beer she had drank and loving the cool night air. The streets had thinned of people. A few soldiers straggled along, most of them mercenaries and most of them far more drunk then she. She was a long way from Lionkeep, and the dark streets intimidated her. Only the Red Stallion seemed open for business. The other shops and taverns were either abandoned or locked for the night. Mirage peered down the wide, gloomy avenue. Years ago the city had bustled with commerce, or so Lukien had told her. Now it was just a hulking corpse, with no spirit to animate it.

  ‘Maybe we should go back,’ Mirage whispered to her horse. The Red Stallion had rooms, and she was sure she could convince the kindly barkeep to give her one for the night. But despite the darkness it wasn’t really late, so Mirage continued down the lane, away from the soldiers, until the merry noise of the tavern faded far behind her. Being a main thoroughfare, the street would take her toward Lionkeep, she was sure. After long minutes of walking, she reached a corner and paused, not sure which direction to take. Koth’s tall buildings obscured her vision.

  ‘West?’ She thought for a moment. ‘North?’

  Straight would lead her down the same broad lane. Turning right led to a narrower, darker street, but it seemed to be the direction she wanted. She peered down the narrow street, focusing her eyes through the gloom. Koth’s skyline beckoned darkly. She saw hills in the distance, bordering the city.

  ‘That way,’ she whispered, not liking the choice at all.

  Then, she glimpsed something unusual in the road, draped in shadows, hidden by the neglected buildings. A horse. And a rider, facing her and not moving. Mirage caught her breath and froze. The snorting of the horse echoed down the lane. The mounted man barely stirred, nearly invisible in the blackness. His great beast clopped at the broken cobblestones. Mirage drew back, first one step than another, wondering if she’d been seen. As she moved the horseman flicked back his cape and took something from his belt.

  ‘Do not run, girl,’ he ordered. ‘If you do it will be worse for you.’

  Forgetting her horse, Mirage bolted back down the avenue. At once she heard the horseman pursue, his thundering mount coming fast behind her.

  ‘Leave me alone!’ she shouted. Up ahead the road was empty. ‘Someone help me!’

  Running made the world a blur, and soon Mirage felt the horseman’s shadow. His gloved hand shot down, grabbing up her blond hair and yanking her back. She screamed as his cape fell over her eyes. His hands were everywhere, lifting her, jerking her up, then silencing her scream in smothering flesh. Mirage’s head pounded with pain. An odour seared her mouth and lungs. She was in molasses suddenly, her body slack, her panicked thoughts quickly fading. Unable to stop her arms from dropping, Mirage sagged in the violent grip.

  Mirage’s consciousness waned swiftly. Before it fled, she heard the man again, happily triumphant, telling her to be a good girl.

  She awoke to a thunderous headache and the world swaying beneath her. Heat stroked her skin, the feeling of sunlight on her burning neck. It was more than the usual pain in her flesh, and it awoke her with a gasp. Her eyes fluttered open, glimpsing the ground moving below her and the thick coat of her horse against her face. She fought the pain and fog, struggling to reason, to even raise her head.

  ‘Where. .’

  The word dribbled from her dry lips. A foul flavour coated her mouth and throat, burning when she breathed. Forcing her eyes wider, she realized she was riding. Daylight streamed down from the sky and the sounds of horse hooves reached her ears.

  Am I drunk?

  She had been drunk before, but it had never hurt like this. Again she raised her head, straining against the nausea squeezing her skull. Another sharp pain grabbed her wrists, and she realized her hands were tied to the saddle. Startled, she bolted upright, then felt a rope around her waist as well, keeping her from tottering off her horse. The same panic from the night before overwhelmed her.

  ‘What’s this?’ she moaned. ‘What’s happening?’

  Up ahead sauntered another horse, huge and black. A caped rider straddled the beast, barely turning his head to regard her. Mirage knew instantly it was the man from the bar, then remembered the brutal way he’d chased her down. Fear rose up in her as she fought the bindings on her wrist. Her horse was tethered to the dark man’s own, riding slowly along the deserted road.

  ‘Tell me who you are,’ she hissed, ‘and what you’re doing to me.’

  ‘My name is Corvalos Chane,’ said the man, ‘and you are my prisoner.’

  The unnerving casualness of the statement horrified Mirage. ‘What?’ The rope bit into her thrashing wrists. ‘Prisoner?’ Speaking took effort, and her words boomed in her aching head. She leaned forward to steady herself against her horse. ‘What did you do to me?’

  The man chuckled. ‘It’s an unpleasant feeling, I know.’

  ‘You drugged me. You chased me down. .’

  Mirage could hardly talk or keep her head up. Sweat beaded on her forehead, stinging her eyes. They were not in Koth any more, or even anywhere near the city. An unfamiliar landscape of hills and conifers met her blurry gaze. The urge to vomit overwhelmed her.

  ‘I’m going to be sick.’

  ‘Then be sick.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I am Corvalos Chane.’

  The useless answer broke Mirage’s resistance. ‘Please,’ she cried, ‘How can I be a prisoner? I didn’t do anything!’ Then another, more ghastly thought entered her mind. ‘Gods. . you’re a slaver. .’

  Corvalos Chane shook his head but did not bother turning to look at her. ‘Wrong.’

  ‘What, then? You mean to rape me?’

  ‘Will y
ou wail like this all the way to Reec?’

  Mirage tamed her breathing, trying to understand his riddles. ‘You’re taking me to Reec? Why?’

  ‘Because I am a Reecian,’ said Chane, as if that explained everything.

  ‘I’ve done nothing!’ Mirage raged. ‘Listen to me, you’re the man from the tavern, yes? You saw me there; you know I’ve done nothing wrong!’

  ‘Is that why you recognize me? Because of the tavern?’

  Mirage thought hard, pushing her puzzled mind past the pain. The harder she concentrated the sicker she got, but then she remembered what she had thought the night before, how she was sure she’d seen the man somewhere else.

  ‘No,’ she groaned. ‘Or yes, maybe. I can’t remember.’

  Corvalos Chane, amused, laughed as he trotted along. ‘I am good at making myself disappear. It’s my job, you see. And the drug makes the mind weak. Think, and in time you will remember.’

  ‘Tell me now, damn you!’ Mirage glared at the back of his head. ‘Turn around so I can look at you!’

  At last the stranger brought his horse to a stop, letting Mirage’s mount catch up a bit. He turned to regard her with his iron eyes. He was not a young man, but there was power in his frame like an unsprung catapult. Mirage could see the taut muscles beneath his tightly fitting tunic. His clean shaven face tilted with a jeering smile as he allowed her a close inspection. Through her swimming brain Mirage made the connection.

  ‘I’ve seen you,’ she said. ‘You were at the farm.’

  ‘And at the library before that,’ said Chane.

  ‘Yes, you were one of Breck’s men.’

  The stranger pretended to blush. ‘Thank you. I’m an excellent actor.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Mirage. She was quickly losing stamina and longed to lay her head down. ‘Please, tell me who you are. Tell me what you want from me.’

  There was no pity on Chane’s weathered face. ‘Your name is Mirage,’ he stated. ‘You came to the library with the Bronze Knight.’

  ‘That’s right.’